


Rosary

by mustachio



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2013-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-09 11:11:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mustachio/pseuds/mustachio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knew he shouldn't have taken it, but he did and now he has to deal with the distraction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rosary

The beads around his neck and the cross hanging down from them are like tiny weights, making him heavier and keeping him pinned to his spot on the rooftop. He isn’t used to them. They throw off his aim just enough to cause slight irritation every time a shot hits the target because it’s not as clean a kill as he’d like, even if it’s still cleaner than most anyone else can manage.

The cross is pressed to his chest, hidden from view underneath his shirt and it seems to burn his skin every time he pulls the trigger. It feels wrong to wear this while working. He isn’t sure how Duncan does it every day. It feels like whatever deity up there is watching him and it causes a slight pause before he readies his musket again. He’s never been a particularly religious person, and he’s almost glad for it right now. He’d hate for this feeling to be a constant thing—the feeling of being watched, the feeling that at any moment, the watcher could strike and he would be helpless to defend himself. 

He reaches up to take the rosary off. He doesn’t need it for protection. He’s gone on plenty of missions before this and he’s always come back fine. A cross won’t make any difference. Some invisible force keeps his hand from removing it, though. His fingers twitch slightly, still wanting to take off the jewelry, but beyond that there is no other movement to remove it. It’s true, he doesn’t like the extra bit of weight it adds, he doesn’t particularly care for what the cross itself stands for, but he can’t take it off. Any other cross he might’ve removed without a second thought—any other cross and he might’ve rejected the idea of ever wearing it in the first place, but this one is different. 

This one is Duncan’s.

_“Take this. You’ll need it more than me.”_

Clipper had protested when Duncan dropped the rosary in his hand. Maybe his mission was more dangerous, but would something like this really be any use to him? It would be more useful in the hands of someone who really believed in God and religion and all that. Duncan hadn’t listened. He only laughed and shook his head.

_“Take it for me, then. Not for God. I’ll be down in Georgia while you’re off in Canada so it’ll be a while before we see each other again. I’ll feel better if you have it.”_

He hadn’t argued after that. He still didn’t see the purpose in having it with him, but if it made Duncan feel better, it was pointless to argue over something like that. 

And now here he is, moving from rooftop to rooftop, picking off his targets one by one. It’s a tedious job and one that seems much too easy for all the worry Connor had shown when assigning only him to it, but, truth be told, Clipper doesn’t think much of it. He’s about as good at being cautious as he is at planning ahead and he doesn’t think of how even if he is moving from roof to roof, the gunshots can still be heard. He doesn’t even think of the fact that he’s still staying in the same general area and how it might be easy for the Templars to figure out where he is.

It isn’t until he hears a boot coming down on the shingles that he realizes he probably should have been taking that into consideration. It isn’t until a particularly large Templar is grabbing at him and bringing a particularly large knife down on him that he curses his lack of caution. He moves quickly enough that the knife doesn’t impale him straight through his head and stabs him through his shoulder—only just missing his neck— instead. 

The large Templar drags the knife towards him, cutting through Clipper’s skin like a piece of meat and he can’t help the scream. The wound isn’t a deep one, but it feels like someone is performing surgery on him with nothing to ease the pain in sight. He jerks back, forgetting about the slope of the roof and ends up stumbling onto his back, and sliding very quickly towards the edge.

Duncan’s rosary is even quicker. Two of the beads are shattered and the thread holding it all together is cut and now he wishes he had taken it off before. He can’t focus on that for much longer. If he doesn’t do something soon, he’ll end up falling to—likely not his death, but to a very brutal meeting with the ground that will likely result in some very broken bones. There isn’t much he can do at the moment, though. Not with the Templar lunging at him again, knife out and dripping with Clipper’s blood. He moves, again only fast enough to avoid any fatal blows, but not enough to avoid getting stabbed altogether. This time it’s the side of his stomach that takes it and this one hurts more than the last.

It takes far too much energy to kick the man away and he regrets doing so immediately. The action is just what was needed to propel him off the edge of the roof and all he can do to protect himself is to try and turn in a way that he thinks will result in the least amount of pain. This action is even less helpful than the kick that sent him off the roof in the first place. He only manages to turn onto his side—the side that was just stabbed, even, and his head hits the ground rather painfully, disorienting him for a good few moments.

At the very least, he can be grateful that the Templar ended up falling off of the roof, too, but now more people are aware of what’s going on and he can see more Templars heading in their direction. What’s worse is that Duncan’s rosary managed to land just behind the Templar. If he’s going to get it back, he’ll have to run right towards the large man and the knife that’s nearly completely covered in his own blood.

It’s a stupid move, he shouldn’t do it, almost every one of his instincts says to just run away, and find some way to recover from this, but he can’t. There’s one small part of him that just won’t let him forget about it and Clipper rushes for the rosary. Thankfully, the Templar is still disoriented from the fall and Clipper pushes past him with relative ease and manages to grab the rosary, but in the time it takes him to grab it, the Templar recovers and grabs at him before Clipper can start to run again.

The action manages to tear a hole in his ammunition pouch and he curses silently. Everything is falling out quickly and there’s no way he’ll be able to get all of that back. He doesn’t even have time to think about it because now the Templar is grabbing his foot and pulling him to the ground again. And, of course, there’s that knife again, and this time it gets the spot right behind Clipper’s knee. As if running wasn’t already going to be challenging enough with the wounds to his shoulder and stomach. Now he has to deal with this.

Clipper grabs for his pistol and uses his last shot to get rid of this giant menace. He doesn’t think about going back for the dropped ammunition. He won’t have time, there’s no way. Everyone must have heard that shot and then there are the guys that were already coming this way. They’re closer now and all Clipper does have time for is pulling the knife out of his leg and somehow finding the strength to stand and move.

The pain is like nothing he’s ever felt before. It shoots through his body and very nearly cripples him. He tries to run, but all of his steps come out as stumbles and it’s pure luck when he manages to lose the men following him and collapse into a small space inside of a crumbling shack. It isn’t the most comfortable of hiding places, but it will have to do for now. He can’t run like this and he certainly can’t fight. Still, he can’t stay here much longer either. This is the Templars’ territory, there’s no way they won’t think to look for him here and in this cramped little space, it’s not like there’s anywhere to run even if he could.

Now to figure out just how he’s supposed to make his escape. If he can ignore the pain for just a little while, he could easily move some of the loose boards of the shack and leave that way, but can he manage that? And even if he can, will the rickety old thing hold? It seems that with every movement he makes, the shack rattles and comes a little closer to coming down completely. Disturbing it any more than necessary might bring the whole thing toppling down and there would be no chance of sneaking away then.

Clipper shifts slightly in an attempt to get more comfortable, but the movement only sends more pain shooting through him and without thinking he brings the hand that’s still clutching the broken rosary up to hold the wound on his stomach. When he pulls his hand away the rosary is covered in his blood and he grimaces. He can’t give it back to Duncan like this. Wiping the blood off on his shirt does very little to help. His wounds have already bled so much that a very large section of it is already dyed completely red and sticking to him.

He only spends a few more seconds trying to clean it off before he gives up on that and brings the rosary up to press it against his cheek. It’s something of a comfort. Clipper isn’t sure if it’s all in his head, but despite the remaining blood and the fact that it’s been with him for the past few weeks it still smells a little like Duncan and he likes having that smell close by.

This is pathetic. Once Connor told him that he has everything it takes to be a great Assassin, but what kind of great Assassin makes a stupid mistake like this? He should have just forgotten about the damn rosary and escaped before anyone actually took notice of him. He could have done it! Except no, maybe he couldn’t have done it. He couldn’t have just forgotten about something that meant so much to Duncan, not even if it meant finishing the mission more efficiently and without any real risk to his life. He can’t imagine just leaving the rosary on the ground, forgotten and broken. It would have felt like he was betraying Duncan. He trusted Clipper with this. There was no way he could have just gone on without it.

Still, he wishes he could have forgotten about it. He’s sure that if he had there would have been some way to make it up to Duncan and he wouldn’t be hiding out, bleeding in a rundown shack in the middle of Templar territory. More than that, if he’d just forgotten it to begin with instead of letting it distract him from the beginning, he wouldn’t have been so distracted as to not notice that he’d been notice. If he’d have just ignored the new feeling of wearing it, none of this would have happened.

He looks to the door that refuses to close all the way and tenses. There is double the number of Templars out there looking for him now. His blood must be staining the ground, acting like a trail of breadcrumbs and it’s only a matter of time before they follow it here.

His mind races to find something he can do. There’s no way he can escape like this. Even if he does manage to make a new exit, chances are there will be Templars waiting for him there, too. He lost his extra ammunition when the man who stabbed him pulled at his clothes and he questions whether or not he’ll be able to use his blade effectively when it hurts to move. Either way, his sword will be his best bet, regardless of whether or not he’s at his best.

Dropping the rosary into his pocket, he pulls his sword out, standing slowly, and attempting to prop himself up on the wall in a way that will hide his discomfort. He can hear the footsteps just outside the door and the door is kicked in not a second later. 

Really, he should have known better than to just rush at the guy (though in his state it’s less rushing and more hobbling), but he’s never been very good at planning and it’s not like he had a whole lot of time at this point to think about what he was going to do. But anything would have been better than this. Anything. All rushing at the Templar gets him is some more of that shooting pain that never seemed to fade and a laugh. Not a laugh on his end, of course; a laugh from the Templar as he slams Clipper to the wall, effectively forcing him to drop the sword, leaving him completely defenseless.

Fear is not an emotion he particularly enjoys. He hates the sense of hopelessness it always tends to leave in him and the way his hands shake as the emotion creeps up on him. Fear is unavoidable now, though. He’s gotten himself into a mess he doesn’t know how to get himself out of and the fear is all too prominent now. He’s certain the Templar must see it in his eyes. He’s certain the Templar is enjoying it and his useless struggles only add to that enjoyment.

“Any last—“

Instead of finishing the question, the Templar spits up blood, some managing to get Clipper directly in the eye before he slumps to the ground. Clipper is about to follow, the still aching injuries leaving him without energy to continue standing longer than necessary, but strong arms catch him and pull him closer.

His eyes are closed and they sting from the blood still in them, but he knows who it is from the smell. Alcohol, sweat, and something he can’t think of the word for but that is very distinctly Duncan. It’s probably the most comforting smell in the world right now, except for the guilt that wells up when he remembers the broken rosary. Clipper tries to stand up a little straighter so that he’s not leaning on Duncan and reaches into his pocket.

“It—it broke. ‘m sorry.”

His words are quiet and slurred—he barely has the energy to stay awake and he wonders how much blood he’s lost at this point. Too much, most likely. He uses the hand that’s not holding the rosary out to finally wipe the blood from his eyes so that he can actually see. Clipper is relieved to see the lack of anger on the other man’s face when he takes the rosary back. Mostly, it’s a mix of worry and relief at what Clipper assumes is his pitiful state.

“It’s alright,” Duncan pulls him closer again, this time in a real hug that Clipper is all too eager to return. “Unlike you, it can be replaced.”

Clipper only hums his agreement, not fully processing the words in his only half conscious state. He needs to rest. Duncan takes one arm away and adjusts the position of the other one so that he can better walk Clipper out to where Stephane and Connor are waiting with mildly worried expressions. The worry grows when the actually see Clipper, leaning heavily on Duncan and barely able to keep his eyes open.

Stephane walks over, nudging Clipper in an attempt to wake him up, but all it really does is cause the younger man to turn his head slightly to give him a smile that is supposed to be comforting, but is, in reality, anything but.

“We need to get him home. He needs medical attention and rest. He will not get either of those things here.”

Connor is the one who speaks up this time, though he doesn’t approach. Still, his worry is obvious in his face and the way he clenches and unclenches his fists as he paces. Clipper feels slightly ashamed that Connor is seeing him like this. Connor would have never gotten himself into such a dangerous situation. Connor wouldn’t have gotten himself in such bad shape that he needed someone else to help him walk out of it. 

He knows Connor most likely doesn’t think any less of him for this and neither do the others. This was a dangerous mission that Connor would have never sent anyone but himself on alone, but by the time Clipper left, everyone else was already busy with their own missions and this one just couldn’t wait any longer. That thought does little to comfort Clipper. He’d give anything to be able to fight like Connor, to be able to infiltrate Templar headquarters and only come away with a few scratches. Instead, he comes away bleeding heavily and feeling half dead.

“He can ride with me. He’s in no condition to be riding alone.”

There is no protest from Connor or Stephane when Duncan says this and there certainly isn’t any protest from Clipper. He wouldn’t mind riding with the others at all, but he loves Duncan in a different way than he loves them and after weeks of being apart, he really just wants to be close to the Irishman again.

Duncan walks him over to his horse and manages to lift Clipper in a way that surprisingly doesn’t make his wounds hurt. Or maybe he’s just numb to the pain at this point. That’s the more likely option, but Clipper prefers to think that it’s the former. He very nearly falls off the horse before Duncan gets on and pulls him closer than is probably necessary. There’s not a hair’s width of space between Clipper’s back and Duncan’s front and if it weren’t for the wound on his shoulder, Clipper would like nothing more than to turn and kiss Duncan full on the mouth. It’s been too long since he’s tasted that mouth. It’s been too long since he’s really smelled this smell. It’s been too long since they’ve been this close.

Clipper settles for being happy with the kiss Duncan presses to the top of his head as he slouches down as much as he thinks he can without making it difficult to ride.

“Don’t you die on me now, Clipper. We didn’t come all this way for that.”

“Heh. From scratches like these? Never.”

Clipper manages one last small smile and allows himself to fall asleep in Duncan’s arms.


End file.
